The Trump of Merlin
by Nauro
Summary: Harry is found by the family he had, but never knew about. As his relatives try to help him and themselves, who will Harry stay loyal to? Is loyalty even an option? What is true and what is a shadow? What relics has Merlin left behind? Is he even alive?
1. Never

**Disclaimer: **Rowling and Zelazny, something and something, but not something mine.

* * *

><p>ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס<p>

**The Trump of Merlin**

**Prologue: Never**

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Perhaps there should have been a reason for secrecy or lies. Perhaps, in another world she wouldn't have made a mistake. But her husband was both understanding and forgiving. He didn't want to destroy the family. So, he treated the girl as his own. Only her radiant green eyes reminded them of him. Her hair was red, almost flaming, but as her mother had copper hair too, it was at least understandable difference.

When she got a strange letter, they guessed that her father was one of them, but they couldn't tell that to the eleven year old. How would you go on about it? _Lilly, dear, we would like you to know that your mother has made a mistake? And your real father never even called her after that one night, so good luck finding him without even his name._

When they finally found it in their hearts to tell, Lily didn't speak with them for a week. After that, she asked where her real father was. But they didn't know. Lily demanded, shouted, pleaded and cried, but they couldn't give her a name they didn't have. All they had was a small tarot card with a picture that he left to Lily's mother as a souvenir.

It was cold, radiant and eerie. Similar to the wizarding portraits Lily saw in the school. But there was nothing like it - spells couldn't crack the secret the cold card possessed. Lily even asked James for help, regretting the decision the second she let the mystery slip. Surprisingly, Potter proved to be helpful with the access to the Restricted Section. Covered in cloak they researched various theories but could find anything that even scratched the mysteries of the card. James wanted to try and see how much it could be damaged, guessing about some sort of protection woven into it, but Lily protested – it was the only thing of her father she had, and if there were no protections to check...

Lily didn't find her father. But she did find the side of James she liked. Covered under the cloak, whispering in the silence of the library she got to know him more and more. And the next year they met as a Head Boy and Girl.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

James always admired the strength of Lily – both literal and not. He always remembered when she broke his nose in one simple slap, at the same time winning his heart to the years to come. He never pranked her again, only asked her to go out with him every other day. She said no almost as many times.

Lily herself ignored her eerie strength completely – she knew that she was stronger than even most of the boys, but as she never was one for violence and didn't even use it when it would have helped her. She declined the opportunity to play quidditch, talked everyone out of fights and never even had the urge to hit the Junior Death Eaters, as the 'elite Slytherin club' was called in her mind.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

One day, nearing the end of their last year, Sirius came to them with a solution – he had found an obscure book on bloodline tests and offered to perform the spell, which might have found something about her real father.

Lily agreed, but only after a hundred of reassurances that the spell wasn't dark and it wasn't even outlawed. Of course what resistance there was came from the fact that James had shared the tale with his friends, without letting her know. But, both Sirius and James were forgiven and all three of them gathered around a small piece of parchment.

A few drops of blood, a complex incantation and there it was. Surprisingly, it appeared that her father was a Muggle after all, as the test didn't register any wizarding powers in the two generations it reached, there were some strange readings mixed in, but Sirius explained it as an expected spell residue – it wasn't a very exact spell. It left a question of how an obviously magical card of her father was made.

James promised to look for the possible painters after their graduation, but the Order of Phoenix demanded lots their attention, and then – Harry took away whatever time they had left and more.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

His steps were slow, indifferent. Their screams had no meaning. They were already dead. Only she was to be spared and given as a gift. His robes were billowing slowly, as he took the stairs up.

"Stand aside — stand aside, girl —" He ordered.

She didn't listen.

A wave of his hand and she was washed in the green light. She fell, in front of the child, and he took another step towards his goal.

Then, he saw her lips moving - a whisper from beyond a grave.

Lord Voldemort, the monster everyone were afraid to even think about, shuddered as he tried to push that away the image as his imagination, raising a wand for a final spell against the little boy. He was the bringer of death and death had no rule against him.

"**Avada Kedavra**", he said calmly, as if casting a levitation charm, with a practised ease.

As the green light left the wandtip, he knew that something was wrong.

The room shook and there was a surge of energies.

The shade rose from the body of the Dark Lord and was surged away by swirling wind.

Months had to pass until he could even think clearly. Years, until he regained a measure of control. But Lily's voice, her dying whisper echoed in his being, each and every night, since the night he heard her say it. _**"You will never touch my son."**_

It was no magic he knew – a curse, uttered from the other world.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Harry Potter was a freak. So had his relatives told him repeatedly over the years. A part of him had agreed – he really was different than others.

He never had a cold, nor was ever otherwise ill. He was as strong as uncle Vernon by eight years of age. He could go days without food and could shrug off any injury.

His resilience was a curse as much as a blessing. When the bruises from an unintended strike disappeared, his uncle gave him another one – just to bring home a lesson. When that one was gone, he was left alone. But with time, Vernon realized a thing many people would never even think about. The boy couldn't get hurt – so to learn the lessons of life and to beat the freakishness out of him, a stray hit or two were nothing. And the boy healed so well, no one could ever know he was hit.

The real suffering began when at feeble age of eight Harry caught the arm of his uncle in the air and swatted it away. He fractured Vernon's arm with that simple action. That didn't sit well with his uncle. Even when Harry tried to explain that he didn't mean to hurt his Uncle, no one believed him.

Had Harry been cast from different mold, he would have tried to fight more. Had he unleashed everything he had, he probably would have succeeded. But, being trained by his uncle from a rather young age to listen and do as he was said, no thoughts of open rebellion ever surfaced. The Dursleys were cruel, but he knew no other way of life.

Until a letter arrived.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

We all know how the tale should go – of a magical train, the first few friends and rivals. Yet, there were many curious things a close examining would have revealed.

The train itself was a puzzle to both Harry and, once – to his mother, whenever they took it. There was a feeling of strange fullness whenever the ride went on. Also, he was one of a few Muggle raised children to notice that the first of September was always a Sunday year after year. No wizard ever batted an eyelash thinking about it – it was just the way of Hogwarts.

Harry quickly fell into the habits of the school, he got yelled at by Snape, caught a tiny remembrall to get on a house quidditch team, saw a huge three-headed dog. The usual, at least as far as the magical schools go.

The troll was a surprise – Harry's leap onto it's back startled it greatly. But what really came out as a surprise was when the little boy had almost strangled the beast into unconsciousness. However, before that could happen, Ron managed to hit it with a levitating club. This way no one realised how strong young Potter was. Yet.

Quirrell had no chances to drop young seeker from the broom. All the shaking and bulging couldn't make Harry release the broom. The gryffindor even managed to steer the unpleasant broom slightly.

It was Christmas, when the strangest gifts arrived.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

The first mysterious gift was the invisibility cloak.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died._

_It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

Ron had all but fallen in love with it.

The second one – a strange tarot card.

_Your mother trusted this puzzle to me._

_It is said to depict your grandfather._

_I hope you will learn its secrets where I have failed._

It was a first ever depiction of anyone from his family, that weren't Dursleys. The strangest thing wasn't the strange cold feeling he felt while touching the card – it was the man itself. It wasn't like any photo of her mother's father – Petunia had a photo of her parents, half hidden on a shelf somewhere in the house. That meant that it was a picture of a Potter. But why was it written that it belonged to Harry's mother?

Flaming red hair, short, slightly unkempt, but not as much of a mess as his. Radiant green eyes, beardless, slightly worried face. The man in the picture looked young, sitting on a strong white stallion, facing the dexter side of a card. He wore a riding suit of green and carried himself strongly. The painting was unmoving; unlike the many wizarding photos Harry had seen since the arrival at Hogwarts. The other side was marked with a white unicorn.

There was something that both drew him at the card and repulsed him. Harry spent quite some time holding the card between his fingers, imagining that he was looking at his grandfather.

He was half expecting to feel something, a surge of magic, anything, but the card remained silent and cold.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

The subject of Harry's strength came up when they were smuggling a dragon up a tower – he astonished Hagrid with the ease he carried the crate and had to endure Hermione's questioning. No he had no idea about the strength he possessed being unnatural. No, he thought it was a wizard thing. Yes, he wasn't making it known as his Uncle... No, he wouldn't elaborate on that.

Hermione still eyed him suspiciously for a week.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

When Harry woke up from the mess with the Philosopher's Stone, no one was expecting it to be so soon. He woke up and saw Headmaster speaking with a red bearded man, dressed in silk robes with Gryffindor colours. Albus was in the middle saying apologies for not managing to save the stone. Apparently Nicolas had showed some interest in young Harry Potter and came to see him. The man looked slightly alike to his grandfather's picture, but held himself high, three huge jewelled rings glittering on his fingers – an emerald, a ruby and a sapphire.

Harry's voice was still weak so he didn't ask much, just said that he tried to save the stone. Flamel laughed it off, saying that everyone have their own time, and after a long, hard stare at Harry's eyes said his goodbyes. Harry didn't see him for quite some time after that.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Harry's second year wasn't eventful much – the rumours of Slytherin's Heir, the incompetent DADA teacher, a fight with a basilisk. Well, the fight was certainly dangerous.

Actually, the sword he drew out of the hat had been more interesting than anything else – it felt familiar. When he held it, a tingle of strange power played on his fingertips, a strange vision of a curved labyrinth of lines played in his mind. It helped him find focus and slay the basilisk with but a scratch that Fawkes, luckily for Harry, healed with his tears.

He gave the sword to Dumbledore, but regretted it ever since. The sword called to him since then. It was a soft, but persistent allure.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Third year was by far the worst. Dementors shook Harry to his core. But the worst thing was gaining a godfather and losing him at the same time – Sirius had to continue the life of a fugitive, and Harry had to remain at Dursleys.

Harry's Patronus had surfaced on the very same day. It was a shining unicorn, chasing away the black beasts of Fear.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

His fourth year was a marked with a flaming cup, and his name coming out from the flames. He was a champion, mistrusted by everyone, but one that beat all the obstacles. He got injured by the Dragon, but healed quickly.

The second task was the weirdest one – for he had taken a wrong turn and seen a glimpse of a strange underwater city. It felt safe and Harry spent precious seconds staring at it from afar. When he tried to reach it, forgetting about Ron for a second, it disappeared and he found himself near the four hostages.

No one understood why Harry looked so upset after emerging from the lake. He muttered things about the place he wanted to call home but couldn't. Even Dumbledore had no idea what he had seen down there.

The third task had brought death and pain. Harry had to witness Diggory dying for nothing. His blood was used by the Dark Lord, his trust – betrayed by the impostor Moody.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

The fifth year had an insufferable toad, a hidden school army, and finally, the failure of Occlumency training, which usually left Harry tired, and dreaming of a strange door at the end of the corridor, rows of small orbs, ordered in a neat fashion, and a room with a pulsing pattern on the ground.

A vision of his Godfather being tortured made him spring into action. Soon, the six students were rushing down the Ministry, to the Department of Mysteries. There, Harry saw things he had never seen before.

First, they entered the round room with doors. From here on, things went crazy really fast.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

* * *

><p>There were a few quotes from Both Rowling and Zelazny works, but those are small, and you probably wouldn't even have noticed most of them if I hadn't told you that there were.<p> 


	2. Sometimes

**Disclaimer: **Rowling and Zelazny, something and something, but not something mine.

* * *

><p>ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס<p>

**The Trump of Merlin**

**Sometimes**

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Your mind is focused on one thing and one thing only. Your godfather is somewhere down the corridor. He is being tortured, or worse, might be already dead. You are running, out of breath, towards him – you have to reach him in time, you will save him.

When you enter the round room, the doors spin around like crazy. You don't remember it happening in any of the dreams. They settle down, but you have no idea which one is the right one anymore. Time is of essence, but others are confused, they want some explanations, they want to know what is going on. You argue that it doesn't matter, that you remember the room where your godfather was from the vision – after opening any door it will be clear if it is the right room.

You have to make a choice. Looking around, you notice one of the doors starting to glitter. It might be just your imagination, or, it might be your only chance. You step forward, putting your hand on it and try to push it open. It doesn't bulge, but you know – it's important to get to the other side. You need to get this door open. Now.

Hermione tries an unlocking spell. It fails.

You take out Sirius' knife and slide it in the crack between the door and the wall. It melts.

"This is the door," you whisper, pain surfacing in your voice. There is Sirius, and, there is something, that screams out to you. You cannot phantom not getting through.

They understand, but no one has any more ideas, except, to try and go around. It's a bad idea – the door is here, why would you look for any other way?

You start hitting it, with all your force. The first strike sounds hollow. The next one echoes throughout the room. The third one bruises your knuckles bloody. A fourth one splatters the door with a drop with your blood.

There is a loud hissing sound and the door lights up with blue flames. You recoil back as it startles you, but there is no heat from it. No need to be scared.

Finally, it opens. You rush inside, wand in your hand, and ready for a fight. There are no opponents there. It's just a small room, mostly empty. At the end of it there is another doorway, but you are not drawn to it. Something in this room is whispering to you, reaching out towards your mind. There are seven paintings hanging on the dark stone walls – three are complete, beautifully drawn. Your gaze passes them by, without staying, looking for something else.

_The Hogwarts castle._

_A rocky island._

_Muggle London._

Four are sketched and scratched, unfinished. You cannot even tell what they are supposed to represent.

Others are looking around in surprise. Only Hermione tries to remind you of Sirius. Were you rushing somewhere? Why is it important? Isn't this the reason you went here?

Any thoughts you have are focused on the sword on the wall. Glittering with dark silver, as dark as it could get, and vibrating with unknown power. There is a strange pattern etched on the naked blade; its edges look even sharper than the blade you have held in your second year. It does have an eerie similarity to the Gryffindor's sword, but looks... Real. True. Like it's the only thing holding the room together. Maybe, the whole Department of Mysteries is held in place by the power of the sword. It's that overwhelming.

Hermione says something, to what Luna responds. Disregarding them, you are moving forward, towards it. It's held on a wall by some kind of spell, but when your hand clasps the handle, the sword loosens up. It fights right into your hand, as if it was made for you. It might even have been.

Only then do you look up at your companions, who all are wearing questioning looks. Luna is the only one who isn't interested in you and your sword. She is holding a handful of cards, apparently from a single shelf across the room. They seem familiar. You blink, and dart towards her. The backs of the cards are blank, but otherwise they are the same. You tear them out of her hands and start shuffling through them. It's hard to do so with both the wand and the sword in hand, so you put your wand behind your ear. Luna smiles faintly for some reason. You ignore her.

Most of the cards are only half drawn, sketched, scratched and some even torn apart. Two are complete and cold to touch, like your grandfather's one is. You shove the uncompleted ones back to Luna. You don't need them.

Your eyes tear into the men on the cards. One is Nicolas Flamel, holding a sword and a glass of wine. The other one looks like a muggle – wearing a white shirt with some kind of a university badge on the chest, red-haired, handsome in spite, or perhaps because, of an artistically broken nose. Have you ever seen him somewhere?

Suddenly, you see the latter move. It's a slight movement, and very unlike those of the wizarding pictures. You stash the Flamel card in your pocket, careful not to drop the sword and the other card you now are hold in your right hand at the same time.

As you are trying not to break eye contact, your friends questions are drowned in a strange feeling – all sounds are suddenly muffled, and you can see another room in front of you. Your vision feels blurry and your heard starts to hurt. The sword is suddenly cool, and soothes the pain. There – the man from the card is talking to someone you cannot see, in a language that sounds funny. His clothes are slightly medieval, and he's got a rapier on his side. The glimpse of the foreign room reveals a beautiful carpet and a few guards with strange uniforms.

He turns to face you, his green eyes meeting yours.

He shouts something at you.

"Who are you?" you ask him, unsure if he will understand.

He does as he answers in English, with a small hint of the American accent. "Where did you get that sword, boy?"

You blink, not understanding why that was important. But you know that the sword is yours. "It's mine."

It looks like he isn't happy with your answer.

Someone tries to get your attention in the Ministry. Probably Hermione, getting really impatient.

"No, don't break the contact!" the stranger shouts.

Seeing that you don't understand, he tries to reach you. His hand clasps yours, but you recoil back at his touch.

You roll on the floor, slipping away from his grasp and still holding onto the sword. It's a miracle that you don't cut yourself.

Your friends all have their wands pointed at the man, who is standing in front of you all, and looking around, confused, rapier already in hand.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

"Was it cramped in there?" Luna's dreamy voice tears down the silence. "In the card?"

It seems that the stranger is not up for laughs. His voice is heavy and determined. "Give the sword to me, boy, and no one will die."

Who is he, to threaten the six of you at the same time? Does he have anything up his sleeve?

"No." The sword is yours and yours alone.

He jumps forward, as fast as a speeding Bludger – definitely not a human. Hermione and Ron both throw a spell each, as soon as he starts moving. He ducks and weaves, and slashes with the rapier at the side. There is a scream, as a sliced wand and two fingers drop on the ground. Ron is clutching his hand, but you can't pay any attention to him – you have but a second between life and death.

Why did you put you wand away? The thought echoes in your mind, as you slash forward with your sword, trying to catch him of guard.

There is a spark when the blades meet, and you try to overpower him with your strength – it would be enough to discourage any grown man from even trying. Surprisingly, he stands his ground, and suddenly, there is lots of pain in your side. You didn't even notice when, but his blade slid down and pierced your side.

Desperate, you garb his blade with your left hand. It's just pain, but if you'll manage to hold the grip, he will be disarmed. He twists you around so that your sword gets in the way of a red beam – someone, probably Neville, sent a well aimed Stunning spell in his direction. If the man wasn't currently trying to kill you, you probably would have marvelled at the execution.

You try to swing at him, but he's too close and holds you too firmly for you to retaliate. Your left hand is now a bloody mess, but you don't release the grip on his rapier. But he does, and draws out a dagger from the belt, instead. He stabs at your right arm, and you cry out in pain.

Then, he heaves you in front of a spell – luckily for you it's just the golden light of two Disarming charms. That's powerful enough to knock down both of you. Somehow, you still manage to hold your grip on the sword. It's as if its energies are helping you in this fight. Rapier still protruding out of your side, you get up, as fast as you can.

The stranger is already on his feet, dodging the array of stunners directed at him.

You stagger, leaning towards the London painting. Your head is spinning, you are starting to see double. The man is getting closer with each step. There are people moving in the street. Ginny falls down, hit by the thrown dagger. The stranger is so near, you can almost feel him breathing into your neck. Then, you fall over, as the wall disappears.

The pavement greets you with a loud thud. It was probably your head trying to leave a mark. Pavement? You slowly get up, helping yourself with the silver sword. Everything hurts. You need to get out of here. The need for hurry doesn't make any movement easier, nor faster. Your right hand feels weird.

Some muggle woman gasps and starts pointing at you. You must really be a sight – a bloody mess, staggering forward, spraying blood everywhere. You know this place. Doesn't Sirius...?

How could you forget him? You won't be able to save him now... He's in the Ministry, and you are near his place...

You glance back, how far have you gotten? Not very far. Grimmauld place 8. The stranger appears in the street behind you. His face bears the mark of a stray Severing charm. His clothes marked by blood, probably yours. He starts running towards you. The four house advantage you have on him is fading into nothing.

_Fidelius_. It's the only chance – he won't be able to follow you into the headquarters of the Order. You pour every last bit of strength you have in yourself and run like your life depends on it. It probably does.

Blood trail behind, you almost reach the stairs. Another dagger flies past you, scratching your ear. The man is two steps behind. You manage to step on the stairs, almost collapsing in the progress. Each breath you take burns your lungs, and you are losing blood fast.

He stops and looks around, furious. You try to open the door. It's locked. You knock. Weakly, but you can't find the strength anymore.

Muggles are shouting at the red-haired man, someone is calling the police. He, however, is carefully examining the spot you disappeared from, ignoring anyone else. Your vision is fading fast – you'll probably pass out on the steps up the house.

The door opens, and you fall into the strong hands of Sirius. Sirius?

"Si..." You pass out clutching the silver blade.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Everything is blurry. The lights are swirling around, the sounds are barely audible. Blinking, your hand tries to find the glasses. You give out a sigh of relief when you put them on. It seems that you are inside Grimmauld Place, number 12. It's the bed you have already slept in before. The house is mostly silent, only the hushed talk below shows that there is someone here.

You dress, slowly, as you're still feeling sore. The sword is put on the nearby desk. You take it into your hand, and make your way downstairs. You're probably going to need a sheath of some kind. Maybe Sirius might help.

As you enter the kitchen, the first thing you notice is the distinct lack of Weasleys in the kitchen. There's only Tonks and Sirius at the table, having a hushed conversation. You catch Remus' name, but nothing more. Their voices are tired, hollow. Tonks notices you first. Her hair is a brownish mess, her eyes look tired, and she only nods in greeting.

Afraid to ask, you still do it. "What happened?"

Sirius is holding a cup with his left hand, his right arm in a cast. His gaze travels to your face and he pours every bit of his worries at you. "Kingsley is dead. Remus lost an eye, he's upstairs, sleeping. Hermione is under some kind of curse – the healers are working on her. Neville still hasn't woken up... he will probably make it though. Luna and Ron are mostly fine. Ginny is dying."

"What?" you feel anger and grief rising.

"The daggers were dripped in some kind of poison. He refuses to tell what it was."

"You caught him?"

"Well, not after a fight." Sirius raises the cast up. "Bastard shattered my wand arm together with the wand. He is truly something. Well, he wasn't expecting Mad-Eye, to be completely fair. Snape is interrogating him..."

"How did you escape Voldemort?" You're slightly confused. Snape? You push your anger away – this is more important. "How did you escape from the Department?"

"To be fair, I never went there. I stayed to look after our guest." He lowers his head. "It was a trap, Voldemort wanted you to take the prophesy."

"But... He tortured you..."

"He sent you a fake vision. Dumbledore wanted you to learn Occlumency to be safe from these."

You feel overwhelmed by this. Everyone got hurt by your foolishness.

"Well, at least people believe you now..."

You look at him questioningly, unsure what he has in mind.

"Dumbledore duelled him in the Atrium. Fudge cannot claim Voldemort being dead, when he was seen fighting in the middle of the ministry."

You finally sit down, in silence. Tonks pours you some tea, spraying a few drops on the table. No one cares.

"I was meaning to ask," says Sirius, "what's with the sword? You didn't want to release it, even while unconscious, so I asked for it to be put where you could find it."

"It's mine." It's all the explanation you have. "I don't know how, but I feel that it belongs to me."

Sirius shrugs. "If you say so."

There are steps behind us and Remus enters the kitchen. Even more ragged than usually, his face a scarred mess, a bandage still covering his left eye. He looks as if he might fall any second.

"Harry, you're already awake," he croaks. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." And you really do. Of course – everything is sore, but the wounds have already healed.

Tonks jumps to help Remus sit, and stumbles along the way. He catches her hand and straightens her up. She pours tea for him as well. There is a hint of blush hiding in Remus face, but you don't comment. Your thoughts are circling around the stranger.

"I want to see him."

Sirius sighs. "Maybe later."

"But..." You need to ask him about the cards, about the paintings, about everything, really. "I have some questions..."

"Don't you think that finding out about the poison is more important?"

You nod, slightly embarrassed that you almost forgot about Ginny. "But we can't leave him alone to Snape! I want to get the answers from him. He might tell me about the poison."

Sirius stares at you for a while and then gives out a sigh. "Believe me, I wish nothing more than to let the greasy git leave the job to us, but he is a master of legilimency and has the skills to brew an antidote... Still, I don't know why Albus puts up with him. We will go check up on him in a while."

You nod, disappointed and change the subject. "So what really happened? I mean I have some ideas, but there's something lacking to the picture."

Remus answers this one. His voice is tired, but he is speaking slowly and as clearly as possible. "When you stumbled inside, bleeding, we were already getting ready to leave to the ministry. Kingsley and Tonks had already left, but Mad-Eye was with us. Sirius quickly gave you to me, and jumped outside, trying to hex your pursuer. It took most of us to subdue him. Then, we just chained him in one of the basements, and rushed to the ministry. Sirius left behind as he was injured and had no more wand..."

"And someone had to keep our guest safe." Sirius piped in anger ringing in his voice. "I was angry enough to be an ideal choice."

"As I was saying, we went to the Department of Mysteries. We found everyone in the painting room. They thought you were dead. As we were trying to leave, death eaters attacked. To shorten the story, I got careless with Bellatrix, and there you have it." Remus gestured to his bandages. "We were mainly winning, until Voldemort showed up. He blasted Kingsley, and we barely held until Dumbledore arrived to help. Neville, Hermione and Luna were invaluable – they fought really well. Their teacher's ability shows."

You blush at the compliment. Still, it feels slightly stale.

There are tears gathering in Tonks eyes. "Kingsley was a good friend," she mutters silently, you almost don't catch the words at all, "the department is going to be empty without him..."

"In the end, Dumbledore chased Voldemort away, and I don't really remember much afterwards," finishes Remus.

"What happened to all the paintings?"

Tonks speaks loudly for the first time since you started the conversation. "Well, they are ministry's property, so whatever they were they." She wipes tears with her sleeve.

"But they were... really strange."

"That's the Department of Mysteries, everything they have is strange or maddening. Or both."

You switch the subject again. "Where is everyone? St. Mungos?"

"Most of them, yes. Do you want to visit them?"

You hesitate – you don't really want to face all your guilt now. "Maybe later."

Surprisingly, they understand. You drink your tea in silence for a while.

You take out your grandfather's card, ant take another look. You have done it thousands of times even after you got a picture album of your parents. It's the same, but as you try to reach him as you did with your crazy attacker, it doesn't work. You check your pockets of the other two card, but find only the Nicolas' one, probably left the other one at the ministry.

Sirius is looking at you with a curious expression. "There are other ones?"

You nod. "I found them at the ministry. Actually... your guest, I don't really know, but he came out of the card somehow."

"Curious. Does it work with Lily's father?"

"No."

"Who is in the other one?"

"Nicolas Flamel."

Sirius chokes on his tea. "How do you know?"

"I saw him in my first year."

"Have you tried reaching him?" Remus looks interested too.

"Well, no... But isn't he dead? Dumbledore said that he was going to die, as there is no more stone to keep him or his wife alive...? Do you think I should? The last time I almost ended up dead..."

"Well..." Sirius ponders for a moment. "Nicolas was friends with Albus. I don't really think it would be dangerous to try. Still, let's finish tea first."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

You take the card in your hand, place the sword on the desk, within, you reach, take out the wand, and concentrate on the card. This time, it seems to be working.

"It's working." You shout, making them take out their wands...

This time it's harder, but the sword nearby is helping you a little.

Another room floats into view, a complex alchemical apparatus is before you and there is Flamell, leaning towards it. He notices you and blinks a few times. "Who are you?" His eyes suddenly sparkle with strange hope for the briefest of moments...

"Nicolas Flamel?" you ask, breathing heavily – it takes real concentration to hold the contact now. You hope that the man will give you at least some answers...

His eyes narrow. "Harry Potter. Interesting." He stands straight, hands crossed, eyes tracing your outline. "I remember you... Was it a year ago?"

"Four, Sir."

He laughs. "How did you find the _trump_?"

"I'm sorry, sir, what are you talking about? I have found a card..."

"A trump," he corrects. "It doesn't matter. I can't see the place you are at – a curious piece of magic. Could I step through and have a look?"

He extends his hand for you to take.

You hesitate. He seems sincere enough, but should you trust him? "Sir, I'm trying to reach you, because I need some answers..." You don't take his hand.

He smiles. "You don't trust me? Did something happen? Is Albus there?"

"No, Albus is busy."

He lowers his hand and shrugs. "Alright, let's step back a little. Does Albus know where to find you?"

You nod.

"I'll reach you through him, then."

"But there is –"

The contact breaks and you can't help but look how the vision of Nicolas shatters before your eyes. Sweat is running on your back and your hand is slightly shaking.

"– a poison..." you finish awkwardly stumbling slightly.

Sirius offers a helping hand. "So, it worked?" he asks you. "Are you alright? You did just talk to the Nicolas Flamel?"

"Yes." You allow, tired, and slump back to your seat. "He said that he will be reaching us through Albus."

"Can I try?" Sirius looks like a boy, wanting to try out a candy. Or, a child trying to forget his worries.

You give him the card and he stares at it for a few moments. Seconds quickly turn into minutes, but Sirius isn't giving up. "How were you doing it?"

"I don't know, I just imagined him being real, and he started moving."

He struggles for a few minutes more. "I think I'm doing it wrong. I'll have to ask Flamel, he seems to know. And I always wanted to talk with someone who is older than Albus. I figure with Albus going bonkers in a hundred years, Nicolas should really be interesting."

You put the cards back into your pocket.

"Well," Sirius winks, "we should probably do something while we wait for Snivellus to finish his questioning. Want to try and see if there is a scabbard fitting your blade hidden in the mess of the attic? The Black family owned a few swords back in their glory days. Might even find a goblin made one..."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

* * *

><p>I think there was a line directly from Zelazny. Maybe. Of course, I left it unmarked.<p> 


	3. Always

**Disclaimer: **Rowling and Zelazny, something and something, but not something mine.

* * *

><p>ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס<p>

**The Trump of Merlin**

**Always**

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

You are smiling a fake smile. Sirius is trying too much. He's visibly tired and drained, yet he insists of carrying on with a cheerful mood. He's trying to get you liven up as well, but you don't know if that's a good idea. In the past few hours you have been sent a fake vision from Voldemort, endangered you fellow classmates, fought in a swordfight you lost horribly, spent two hours healing, and had spoken to the oldest wizard in the planet. You don't really see anything to celebrate.

"Sirius."

"What?"

"You're stalling." You look around the piles of junk he was digging through. "Can we go and see him now?"

He gives up. "If you really want to. I don't believe anything good can come out of it. But, let's at least give you something I promised." He strolls towards a corner he apparently didn't check on purpose and after a minute or two, takes out a few blades and scabbards. Couple are rusty, but the rest look fine.

One of those fits the blade. The scabbard isn't perfectly fitting, but at least holds the sword firmly at your side, the Black family coat of arms engraved on the outside.

"I think it belonged to some ancestor of mine, probably a ceremonial blade for some fancy ball, thrown away after one use." Sirius throws the original sword back into the pile unceremoniously. "I hope you don't mind the markings, when I'll get a new wand, I'll transfigure something else for you."

"It's not that important..." You wave it off – you don't really care aside from keeping the sword itself. "Can we go now?"

Sirius leads you down the stairs, then to the end of the corridor and down into the even darker an gloomier part of the house. There is only a handful of rooms with heavy steel doors. Sirius opens one of them, and goes in first. You follow him.

There, his right leg and both hands chained to the wall, stands the stranger from the third card. The chains are long enough to allow him sit on the ground or take a few steps, but not much more. There seems to not even be a single mark left of Snape's visit. The light in the room is from a few candles, spelled to last longer. It's the room full of shadows and you are starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Where's Snape?" you whisper to Sirius. "Why isn't he here?"

"He left when you were still asleep." He whispers back and puts a hand on your shoulder. "I wanted you and me both to cool off before seeing him. Nothing was going to change in an hour and Snape said he had all he needed for an antidote."

You give Sirius a hard stare. Why did he lie? Still, if you had gone just after waking up, you would have done something you might have regretted later.

The man in chains laughs a chilly laugh. "You know, you can talk outside? I was trying to get some sleep."

Anger is slowly rising inside you, but Sirius hand is keeping you in check. "Who are you?"

"Luke." He smiles. "I'd offer my hand, but as you can see, I'm slightly at a disadvantage."

"Why did you try to kill us?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I was trying to kill only you." He rattles the chains slightly, shifting to another position. "I regret what I had to do to girl; she was the one that gave me this." He touches an already fading scar from the Severing curse. "I only reacted out of instinct."

"Why?" Your voice is shivering. "Why did you try to kill me?"

Sirius squeezes your shoulder with his left hand. It looks like he isn't happy either.

Luke gestures at your side. "I wanted to take it back. It belongs to me."

"It's mine." How many times will you have to repeat it for him to understand?

"Maybe it is now..." He trails off. "Maybe it isn't. Do you even know its name?"

You touch the handle slightly and whisper. "_Werewindle_."

His eyes betray his astonishment, even as his face remains neutral. "My father made it. A long time ago. How did you come to possess it?"

"I found it."

"Very well, keep your secrets." He licks his lips. "Do you have anything to drink?"

"No," Sirius pipes in.

"Pity," Luke rolls his eyes. "So, kid, whose are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who are you working to? Merle had similar hair. Any relation? Is that your true face, even?"

You're getting tired of his games. "I want some answers from you."

He smiles. "Well, I'm all ears..."

You ponder for a second, is it a good idea to let on that you have no idea what is going on? Probably not, but do you have any good options? You decide to try and play safer for a start.

"Who were you talking to, just before you attacked me?"

"Random." He falls silent.

After a few seconds of his silent breathing you ask once more. "Not going to give any details?"

"No."

"What can you tell me about your trump?" You use the word you heard from Nicolas.

He lets out a short laugh. "Well, there aren't many lying around, for one. But, one can never really track where all of his are." He shifts again, leaning against the wall. "I think I know your problem, kid."

"Stop calling me that," you snap.

"I don't exactly have your name, to call you anything else."

"Harry."

"Alright," Luke says slowly. "Look, Harry, I think that we started everything on the wrong foot. I know that now it may seem that I wish you harm, but it was nothing personal. I was just trying to get the sword of my father. He's dead, and Werewindle is priceless to me. I'm sure you understand. Your man, the one I talked with before, has the cure... When the little girl wakes up, we should talk again. Then, I'll answer the questions honestly, and will help you with whatever problems you have."

"Voldemort?" You mutter under your breath.

"Sorry, never heard of him."

Sirius frowns. "Everyone knows about Voldemort. He's the dark lord that is rising in power again..."

Luke just shrugged. "Well, I'm not everyone. A powerful wizard is not completely new to me; I think we could work something out. Again, it's probably best to wait a little. I'd use whatever hospitality you can spare till then."

You leave him there, still chained to the wall.

"Werewindle?" Sirius asks, once you return upstairs.

"It's the name of the sword."

"How do you know?"

"Magic." You smile at your godfather.

"Harry." He looks slightly disappointed. "This isn't the time for jokes. When did you learn the name?"

"I..." You stumble looking for an answer and say something that sounds almost right. "I think I heard Luke thinking about it."

Sirius scratches his head. You are thinking the same thing as he probably is. Did you manage legilimency somehow, or was Luke the one who tried to read you?

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Albus Dumbledore arrives together with Nicolas Flamel. There aren't that many people in the house to greet them. Remus is sleeping again; Tonks is looking after him, so there's only Sirius with you, massaging his already healed right arm. Kreacher is the one looking after Luke. The elf is under stricter orders and Sirius is still thinking whether he wants it dead or not.

Still, both old men are radiating power upon their entrance. It is kind of strange calling Nicolas old, as he looks both younger and healthier than your godfather. Sirius offers his hand and Nicolas shakes it. After that, his eyes turn to you.

"Harry Potter." He smiles. "It's good to see you in the flesh. You have stirred some forgotten arts, and raised the curiosity of the old minds." He gestures to himself and Albus. "I hope both of us will be enough to shed some light on the questions you might have."

"Thank you," you mutter, slightly overwhelmed by their presence. You can feel Werewindle pulsing at your side, reacting to something inside Flamel.

Albus nods, levitating a wooden box up to and onto the table. It unfolds before your eyes, and disappears, leaving the three paintings from the Department of Mysteries.

"What are these paintings?" You were promised answers and you want them.

"They are similar to the trumps. In fact, they all share very similar properties and each and every one of them have been painted by one wizard."

"Who?" It's Sirius, who voices a question.

"Merlin."

You scratch your head. Something isn't right. The painting of London looks too new... And Hogwarts... "But, isn't Merlin a lot older than Hogwarts?"

Albus has the usual twinkle in his eyes. "Merlin is special..."

"He was the only wizard to manipulate time to such an extent," says Nicolas, "I don't want to boast, but my life's project was based on the source of his power. I'm sorry that I can't say much more, as the arithmantic and alchemical equations would bore you to an early demise. It's not a well known fact, but he even went to Hogwarts for a year or two, I believe."

"Really?" Sirius grins. "I bet he was a Gryffindor."

Albus chuckles. "Slytherin, actually. Took only N.E.W.T. level Divination and Herbology, if the rumours are to be believed. He could probably have taught anything else himself."

"But we have strayed from the course," Nicolas smiles at the horrified expression of your godfather. "The paintings are the pinnacle of his work; they would have change the way we all travel and communicate... It's sad that the secret of their usage requires something only Merlin had. And, apparently – you."

"How are they used?"

"Well, you have succeeded in contacting me? That means you are doing it right. Merlin left no exact instructions for them. They have never worked when I tried."

Not everything is adding up, but you nod, mostly content with the explanation. "What about the sword?"

Nicolas finally takes notice of the blade, hanging at your side. His eyes widen, but he collects himself rather quickly. "Could you take it out?"

You obey, drawing the sword slowly, and, still holding a firm grip, extend it forward for him to examine.

"A thing to admire, it is of an interesting craftsmanship..."

"_Do you like my other works, Bleys?_" You whisper. "_Or do you want to lie to me further?_"

Nicolas recoils as if slapped and answers something in a strange language you have heard before. Your head is pounding like there is a stampede of elephants running everywhere. He and Albus both share a worried look. You stagger and almost fall to the ground.

"Harry." Dumbledore looks really worried. "You need to put the sword away."

"_No_," You straighten up, legs shaking, and twist the blade to point it at Flamel. "No. Not before he answers me." Your left hand dives into the pocket drawing your grandfather's trump, and you show the picture to Nicolas. "Tell me his name! You have to tell me his name first! _Tell him the name_."

Albus has a wand in his hand, but Nicolas doesn't. He isn't event trying to move.

"Tell me _my name_!"

"_Brand_."

You drop the blade on the ground and collapse beside it.

You come to it as Sirius is putting you into the bed. It takes him some effort, as his right hand has only just been healed. "Where is the sword?"

"I'm sorry, Harry." He pats your arm. "You need to rest."

"I need the sword."

"No, Harry, it's too dangerous. Please, listen to me. Rest."

You trash around for a few frantic minutes, as Sirius is slowly trying to calm you down.

"I'm sorry." You finally give up. "I'll try to sleep."

"Good." He ruffles your hair. "I'll be back in an hour to check up on you."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Maybe twenty, maybe forty minutes later you realize you won't get any sleep and should probably stop even trying. You start reliving the ministry again. Then, it hits you – Ginny is dying... Kingsley died because of your foolishness. Neville and Hermione are in St. Mungos. You almost lost your godfather. Had he really been down there, he would have died.

You sob in the dark, eyes watering against your will.

You hit your side in anger. It hurts. The pain helps a little.

You still need to see them. It will hurt, but you have to. To speak with Ron, to whisper to Ginny, to hold Hermione's hand...

Getting out of the bed, you slowly walk downstairs. It's silent in the house, the steps are slightly creaking. Sirius is in the kitchen, sleeping, his head resting on the table. There is a small piece of paper, crumpled in his hand.

You carefully tug it out, without waking him. It's a letter, a really short one.

**Ginny's awake. We'll come in the morning.**

**Arthur.**

You feel slightly relieved. Of course, you still need to see them, and there was no word about Hermione, but now you are willing to wait at least until Sirius wakes. Or should you wake him?

You are woken from your thoughts by a few muffled sounds, coming from downstairs. Taking out your wand you rush down, the floor creaking with your steps. Sirius manages to sleep through all that.

As you reach the room with the steel door, you understand what the noise was about – Kreacher is throwing all kinds of insults, some of them so loud that sound reaches through the heavy door.

For a second you think about turning back. But then – he had told you to come and speak with him when Ginny woke. And he has promised answers. Maybe you should call Sirius? No, Luke is chained and has no weapons.

As the door opens, Kreacher quiets down, and shuffles himself in the corner. Luke is awake and his eyes are searching for yours. But you remain in slight shadow.

"You're back." Luke smiles. "And I thought all I had, was the company of a crazy deformed midget."

Kreacher grinds his teeth at that, but Sirius had ordered him staying silent in front of certain people, one of those – you.

"You promised me answers."

"I did. I gather the girl is awake?"

You nod, asking the question that's bugging you since you heard the name. "Who is Brand?"

"Genius. Visionary. Madman." Luke smiles. "He was my father."

"Was?"

"He died."

You find the grandfather's card in your pocket and show it to him.

"Yes, that's definitely him."

"I..." You struggle to say the right thing. "I was told that he is my grandfather."

"It is possible." He nods. "I guess that this makes me your uncle. Still, I would have placed you with Corwin's line; he had the same eyes Brand did. Where are your parents?"

"They died."

"Pity." Luke scratches his head, shackles shaking, it doesn't look that he cares much about it.. "Who killed them?"

"Voldemort. When I was a year old. How do you know that they were killed?"

"Those of Amber blood rarely die in any other ways. Given our lifespan..."

**Amber** – it's the word that radiates some hidden meaning. The word, that's powerful by its own...

"Amber?" you can't help but ask.

"It's the City that all of us hail from. Amber is of Substance, and everything else is but a Shadow."

"I don't understand. Where is it? Why it's different?"

"It's almost impossible to explain. I could bring you there, if you would like me to..."

You stare at nothing for a while unsure how to respond to the proposal.

"How did you find the Werewindle?" He's the first to break it apart.

"It called to me."

"So it truly **is** yours." He laughs. "I didn't expect that."

"I don't want it anymore." You confess. "It whispers to me. I'm afraid that it's changing me. I called Nicolas by a different name; I knew its name without hearing it from anyone."

"Nicolas? What did you call him?"

"Bleys."

Luke swears in some other language. "Look, I think I know how to help you. You haven't walked the Pattern yet and probably don't even know what it is. I'll have to show you, and you'll have to walk through it."

You blink at his enthusiasm.

"Harry, it is very important that you do so. And, we need to do it before Bleys makes his move."

"But isn't Nicolas...?"

He interrupts you. "Your 'Nicolas' held your grandfather chained in a tower for a few years. Your 'Nicolas' attacked Amber with an army to conquer and rule. Bleys is the one half of Amber has been looking for years. He is up to something and it's not going to be pretty, nor good. When he recognises me... We have to leave before that." He stands up, and offers you a hand – free of the chains. "I'm offering you help, and I'm not asking anything in return. The control over Pattern would give you a weapon for whatever foes you might have here. Your Shadow's magic shouldn't affect you as much. It means that the magical spells will have to be more powerful to hold you."

"Why should I trust you, you tried to kill me?" Still, there is a possibility he's telling the truth – he is your uncle after all, he didn't know that before. He does sound sincere enough...

"And now, I'm trying to help you. I have stayed here when I could have already escaped and perhaps even stolen the father's sword. Let's say that I wish to amend the hurt I inflicted upon your friends."

You hesitate, but then shake Luke's hand. You are going to risk it.

"Good," he whispers, "lead me out of this place, and I'll show you what you can really do."

You're probably gone mad, but asking Kreacher to let you both leave was enough to counter any order about Luke Sirius had told him. Then, struck by an inspiration, you ask him to bring you the sword. Kreacher grins like his lifetime wish had just come true and pops with it just after a few seconds. You get the feeling that the little elf is enjoying every chance to get at Sirius. Kreacher is probably trying to get himself killed.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Werewindle at your side, you leave the Grimmauld Place number 12, Luke leading the way. After a few streets the world starts feeling strange and you feel as if you were riding aboard the Hogwarts Express. Except that you are just walking. The night sky flickers, some constellations shift places for a moment, but then it violently slaps back into place. Your head starts hurting, and Luke is swearing like a sailor.

"Forgot the way?" You smile at him.

"Something is blocking it..."

"_Beautiful, isn't it?_" you whisper, your hand clasping Werewindle's handle, "_A golden cage fit for the royal blood._ _Just imagine what could I have created, had I the Jewel in my hands_."

"Harry?"

You snap out of it. "Why did you let me take the blade?"

"What, and leave it to Bleys? And you probably wouldn't give it to me even if I asked. Don't worry, it won't harm you. Now, please, be silent, I'm going to try and change something else."

You both wander for two hours, maybe more. Luke finally gives up, after so many headaches you both can barely stand.

"Harry?"

You grunt something in response.

"I need you to look into the blade with your mind. There must be something that could help..."

You want to say that you have no idea how to do it, but then it comes to you. As simple as breathing. "_There is an island._ Something is there..."

"Do you know where it is?"

"No." You make a pause. "But there was a painting..."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס


	4. Forever

**Disclaimer: **Rowling and Zelazny, something and something, but not something mine.

* * *

><p>ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס<p>

**The Trump of Merlin**

**Forever**

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

You have risked your life quite a few times, you have done many things others would call crazy, but... You are standing in muggle London, watching the house you have just run away from. That you are in dire need of something inside the house is just a way your luck goes.

"Are you sure we're at the right place?" Luke is sounding slightly tired.

"Yes, it's just under the Fidelius charm..."

"I know, I know..." he muttered, "It would be much easier if I pushed at it with Pattern, it should fold..."

You ignore him. "It looks emptier – there's light only at the top, maybe we should try getting in through the window..."

Luke shrugs. "Well, let's at least do something."

After you get him to the edge of the house he starts seeing it again. You help him reach the window and after a few seconds he opens it without any visible effort.

"I have learned a few things over the years." He winks at you, while helping you into the house. It's strange that there is no magical backslash from you entering the building. Perhaps its wards have recognised you, or maybe it is because the lack of any malicious intent... Or, maybe, no one ever broke into a wizarding house through a window?

You both creep silently into the inner corridors of the house, keeping yourselves to the shadows.

Then, you walk into her. Ginny.

She gasps, but before she can scream for help, you are beside her, clutching her mouth. Her eyes are wide and she is staring at Luke in shock. You quickly start whispering.

"It's alright, he's not a bad guy. It was a misunderstanding."

She struggles against your grip.

"Ginny, please, trust me."

Her movements become shallow; you can almost hear her struggling in her mind.

"Please."

She stops shaking and manages a nod.

"I'm going to release you now."

Her brown eyes, open as huge saucers dig into your face. You shiver under the gaze.

"Harry," she whispers, her voice worried, "I hope that you know what you are trying to do..."

"I owe you an apology," you admit, "I haven't visited you in St. Mungos."

She manages a slight, albeit warm smile. "I probably wouldn't have noticed you visiting. Why..."

Luke interrupts you both, making her jump. "I don't want to intrude, but maybe we should at least move away from the corridor."

You enter one of the many rooms of the house and close the door. Luckily, it's one of the more clean ones – meaning its dark, moist and filled with shadows.

Ginny starts nagging you once the door is closed. "Where have you been?"

"It's important that I... It's because of the Voldemort. There is something that might give me an edge." You're not sure how to explain this. "We thought that we could find the place we need, but I need to find one of the paintings from the ministry."

"Are you sure of this, Harry?"

You nod.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I thought that it would take but a few hours..."

"And as it's always with you it takes you two days."

Two days? You are certain you spent no more than two hours travelling with Luke. Besides, - it's still dark. How could you have missed two sunrises? You spare a glance to Luke, but he doesn't show much surprise. You file the question for later – your head is hurting enough as it is.

"I... miscalculated," you say, rubbing your head awkwardly, "Is everyone as worried as I imagine?"

"Well, even Sirius has gone to search for you. And Dumbledore forbade him leaving the house."

"Ginny... Tell them I'm alright and didn't want to trick them."

"You're not going to stay?"

"I have to finish this... I have to find the painting, and then..." You're not exactly sure, but it seems right. "...I'm going to finally do what I was supposed to. And, I'll probably meet with family..."

"Family?" She squeaks out of surprise. "Harry, but aren't they dead, except... well, do your aunt and uncle count?"

Luke smiles, "Well, it turns out that Harry is my nephew. I would have liked to meet my sister, but it appears that your Voldemort has robbed me of the opportunity."

Your fingers playing with the handle of the Werewindle, you smile at both of them. "My grandfather had quite a family. I might even meet my great grandfather."

"Sadly, no, he has passed away some time before my father did."

"_Oberon is dead, not missing? Who is the king?_"

"Random."

You cough a few times and shake your head. "Never mind... Ginny, do you know where the paintings are, we need to find them soon?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Could you wait here for five minutes?" Without waiting for your answer she darts outside and upstairs, her steps silent and swift.

Luke glances at you. "Do you trust her?"

"More than I trust you."

He lets out a silent laugh. "Fair enough."

Ginny takes four minutes to come back. She's not alone, though – seemingly as soon as the door opens there's Hermione hugging you.

"Harry... Harry. Harry..." She sobs repeating your name. "We were so worried."

Ginny pinches her from behind. "He said he's in a hurry. I shouldn't have told you."

Hermione finally releases you and her eyes widen at the sight of Luke. He nods his head slightly, to recognise her, making her guffaw nervously, her brain trying to make sense out of things.

You hush her quickly – you don't want to wake anyone in the house, even if the most of people are out looking for you. "Hermione, it's alright, he's my uncle." Seeing that it's not enough you add, "Ginny will explain it to you."

Hermione blinks a few times and nods.

"Look, I really appreciate you both being here, but I... we really need to find the paintings."

"They are in the basement," says Ginny, "I have head Sirius talking with Nicolas. Do you need the cards, too?" She takes out an already familiar trump. "I picked it before the... poison started working..."

Luke snatches it from her hand and takes a good look at his picture. "One of Merle's..." Seeing your look, he gives it to you. "Keep it, I don't really need one of myself. Perhaps now, we can go and take the paintings?"

The trip downstairs in uneventful and silent. Ginny is walking silently, but Hermione is mumbling something constantly. You have to hush her a few times, even.

This time, the metal doors look even more threatening. Yet, you have to try. One of the rooms turns out to be empty – it was where Luke had spent a few hours, the other one has a small potions and alchemy laboratory, and the third one is locked. There is some kind of spell work in place, though, as you can feel the door starting to pulse after your touch.

Ginny leans forward, slightly panicking. "There's supposed to be a password. I can't believe I forgot!"

Your mind throbbing, you notice Luke starting to gather some energy of his own, he's probably going to try and push through the spells with Pattern, whatever that means.

"Wait – it's Sirius' password." You suddenly are struck by a simple idea; holding your wand on the door you proclaim, "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

There is a loud click, and the door opens.

There are quite a few things littered in the room, seemingly without any visible order. Some of those appear to be the dangerous valuables the attic wasn't safe for, some of these are thing you can't identify... Luke smiles as he grabs a solid looking blade from the pile.

"Careful," Hermione can't help but point out, "I think this one is enchanted to harm its wielder."

He only laughs. "I'll clean it before using, don't worry." You feel the build up of power and hear him mutter a few words you don't fully recognise. There is warmth protruding from the blade, then a silent hiss, and then – silence. "There." He smiles. "Most shadow magics fold when hit with Pattern."

Hermione gapes at him curiously, but your gaze shifts to the three paintings, hung on the side. "We found them."

Luke takes two of them down, leaving the one with the island hanging on the wall. "We need to take them with us, we don't know if we might need them later." He thinks for a few seconds. "I'm going first, and then you're going to take the painting and use my trump to get to me. This way you're sure it's not going to be left behind – that can happen sometimes with bigger paintings. One of the reasons trumps are made the size of cards."

You nod, pointing ant the paintings he is holding. "But I'll hold onto these two until we get there."

"Suit yourself." He waves it off as insignificant and passes them to you. "Well, ladies, see you later. Harry, remember to use my trump." His gaze on the island, he suddenly fades out from view, a grey shadow with rainbow coloured shades lingering in his place.

You take down the painting and clutch all three of them uncomfortably to your side. You spare a glance both Ginny and Hermione. The latter mutters something about you having to explain everything some time soon.

You take out the card with your left hand and try to concentrate on Luke. This time it's somewhat easier than you would expect.

He's currently crouching behind a huge rock, holding the drawn blade, already bloody.

Someone is silently chanting near him. "_**He's not suppossed to be here... He'ss not to be here... He'ss not suppossed to be here... He hass a long tooth...**_"

Luke raises his head to look at you, "Careful, there's a horde of snakes, well – everywhere." He hacks at his side, outside of your vision. "Have any useful spells? It's hard to see them in the dark."

You snigger. "Just let me through."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

As you emerge on the island, hissing, the snakes recoil and scatter, disappearing behind the rocks and inside the cracks.

"Well, that's certainly useful, whatever it was."

"I just told them to go away and leave us alone."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't question any further. "Do you have an idea what we are looking for, or you only know that it's in this island? Do we go to the tower, or is it outside?" He point out towards the centre of the island, where indeed a small square tower is standing.

"I don't want to dive into the sword more than I already am, but I'm sure we'll find some answers inside."

As you make way through the sharp and slippery rocks of the coast, glad that you don't have to look out for a stray snake suddenly biting you from some crack, you are the first one to break the silence. You both are carrying the paintings, but maybe it would have been a good idea to leave them at the shore...

"Is it true, that the trumps were invented by Merlin?"

"Well, he is one of the few able to draw them, myself included, but no, he didn't create them, he learned how to. The one you have of me is definitely his. The island was painted by Brand, I'm almost sure, and the one you have of him is one of Dworkin's. It might have been him who invented them, I'm not exactly sure..."

"So, Bleys did lie to me?"

"Or, at least, didn't tell you the whole truth. It's not that surprising, given who he is."

As you get nearer to the tower, it starts getting colder. That is strange, as so far it looked like the place is somewhere south of England. The stars flicker and the moonlight becomes weaker.

"What is this?" Luke mutters in surprise.

There is a muffled scream somewhere nearby – a woman? The paintings you were carrying drop on the ground.

"Dementor." You gasp out, trying to find and hold to a happy memory. The second you realized that Sirius was safe. "**Expecto Patronum**!"

A silver unicorn runs towards the night, finding a barely visible black shape. The coldness retreats together with the fiend, and your mother's scream dissipates in your mind. But this time the Patronus doesn't behave as it should – it charges after the Dementor, as if trying to skewer it with its horn. The Dementor gives out an unearthly scream that makes you cover your ears.

The silver unicorn runs past the hooded figure, the horn tearing at its side. The Dementor scrams again and again, and only after a few more stabs it quiets down. The unicorn turns around leaving a slowly floating black cloud to be blown away by the wind.

There is something akin to whimper as the remains disappear in the night – the Dementor is alive, but heavily wounded – no book tells that it's possible.

"That was..." Luke is struggling to find words. You have a feeling that the scream hurt him as much as it did you, and you can barely hear him speaking.

The unicorn, lighting everything in its path with the weak silver simmer, is slowly approaching. It's strange that it isn't fading away even slightly, but after the fight, you're not certain what is normal for it anymore. The unicorn gives Luke a long, hard stare and turns to you. There is something different in his gaze, some other magic at work, something you do not understand. Then, it gallops towards the tower, and slams its horn into the glittering gates. There's a shattering sound, the whole island shivers and the wooden gates shatter to pieces. The unicorn jumps in the air and disappears.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Luke is looking curiously at me, as we are making way towards the now clear way into the tower.

"I... The Patronus usually is intangible..."

"Figured as much. That means the Unicorn has something to do with all this."

"The Unicorn?"

"I keep forgetting that you don't know everything. Well, the unicorn is..."

"Look out." You push him aside from the sickly brown spell emerging from the doorway.

The spell splatters on the rocks with a shower of sparks. Luke is already in mid roll, approaching the opponent. Somehow he is still holding onto the painting of Hogwarts – the one he was carrying. After he breaks out of the roll, he is holding the blade at the ready. And you have only just drawn your wand. How did you manage to hold more than two seconds against him, again?

The cloaked figure – a Death Eater, manages another spell – this time, a well known green one. Luke is too fast for him – the second the light leaves the wand, the man's hand is severed with a vicious bite of the blade. The killing spell zooms past you, as you are already moving to look for any other opponents. There are none.

"The green spell." You feel the need to warn him. "It's the killing curse. I'm not sure if your Pattern would help against it, it's supposed to be unblockable..."

He nods, sword point held at the death eater's mask. "Can you cast it?"

"What? It's a dark spell..."

"I see..." he cracks the mask open, revealing some barely familiar face. Still you can't place it exactly. "Who are you?"

The Death Eater shivers. "Goyle."

That's why he looks familiar. You turn to your captive, asking him what's on your mind, "Why are you here? Were you not supposed to be at the ministry?"

"The Dark Lord said to guard the..." He starts shivering and falls silent, sometimes glancing at his left arm.

Luke cuts open his sleeve revealing a red Dark Mark on the Death eaters arm.

"The Dark Lord knows you are here." Goyle starts laughing. "He's going to come and kill all of you." His laugher echoes through the tower, dark and mad, tired and victorious.

You raise your wand to stun him, but Luke just cuts his throat without a second thought. Seeing your shocked expression, he sighs. "He's annoying, and he tried to kill me first. And we have to move. I'm sure we could take a Dark Lord or two, but I would really like to know what I'm up against before trying."

"You didn't need to kill him..."

"No, but it was a faster and more foolproof way. Now move, we need to inspect the tower."

You don't bulge from the spot.

"Look, Harry, I won us some time. You are wasting it now. You can scold me and talk about morals later, alright?"

You grudgingly follow after him.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

"That's got to be a joke."

You're still hurt by his disregard for human life, so you don't answer.

"I really hope it's just a joke." He pokes the strange statue of the unfamiliar man. There is no response from it – it's a statue, what is he expecting? "I once carved my name into one of those... Will have to look for Merle's notes on that... Harry, we're taking it."

"What? Why?"

"It'll help me find Merle." He's smiling at some joke that's probably funny only to him. "And it's a funny looking statue. With it here, it almost looks like home..." He trails of.

"Luke?"

"It really looks alike the place I grew up in..."

He leaves the statue standing in place and starts jogging up the stairs, as if suddenly he knows where he is going. So far the tower was almost as complicated as Hogwarts, with staircases everywhere – hopefully – none of them move. You run after him. There a few turns, a few doors he slams open, and finally you descend down a silver staircase to a strange room with a fountain. There's no water, nor any other liquid pouring out.

"No, it shouldn't look like this." He turns to face you again. "I think I made a mistake."

Your gaze, however is onto the basin where the water should be – it's floor is covered in a strange image, of clouds, sky and strange buildings. Almost as if everything is floating in the air. Suddenly, a glimmer of moonlight shines through the window and into the fountain, and the picture starts trembling and moving – as all trumps do.

"Luke!" You get his attention to the fountain. "What is that?"

"_Tir-na Nog'th!_ I was wrong, but this is the way out... Quick, we need to take the statue with us."

There is a shout from upstairs. You would recognise the voice anywhere – Voldemort.

"There is no time..." You whisper. "Can't you just take the painting, and we can return any time?"

"No – you have lost the one of the island – we might not be able to find it again!"

A door above opens and a few figures emerge at the top.

"Harry Potter," there comes a surprised hiss, "And I thought that I was looking for some warlock Rinaldo."

"Voldemort." You mutter and raise your wand.

Luke laughs. "And who might you be?"

"I am Lord Voldemort!" he announces. "Everyone knows to fear my name. Throw down your weapons, and I might spare you."

Luke gives you a glance. "Give me the sword."

"_No. _Rinaldo? Was anything you told me true?" The anger is rising inside. "_Is this how you behave with your father's memory?_"

"Look, Harry, just give me the sword."

Voldemort gives a satisfied chuckle. "I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to kill yourselves before I do. **Crucio**."

The spell speeds towards Luke (Rinaldo?), and he barely manages to dodge it. You snap an **Expelliarmus** at the Dark Lord, but he sidesteps it and conjures a huge flaming whip. The Death eaters at his side start shooting spells of their own.

It takes visible effort for Luke to dodge the assault, but you are not so lucky – you manage to stun one of the followers as the fire whip catches your hand and you almost drop your wand from the pain. Recoiling back, you watch Luke stab another Death Eater in the stomach. Then the whip digs into his side and throws him at the fountain.

The fountain – you quickly shift the gaze at the painted view, and imagine stepping through, ignoring the burning pain in your arm. There is a shiver and you hear Voldemort's spell, this time heading directly at your exposed back – "**Avada Kedavra**."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Starts are shining through the walls. It's a silvery city, a strange swirling image, living on the light of the moon. The stars themselves are mesmerising – it's incredible how they are different – You were never a prodigy of astronomy, but even you can tell that there are no similar constellations above Hogwarts. Where are you?

_Tir-na Nog'th – the ghostly image of Amber._

Why are you here?

_Because you stepped through, looking for it. And you need to hurry._

Why do you need to hurry? It looks beautiful, mesmerising, closer to the real home, that you could ever with to be.

_Because the moment the moonlight leaves, it's going to return to its ghostly, intangible form._

Down bellow there is a real world.

_Amber._

There are faces, figures, motions, all around you.

Your mother.

Your grandfather.

Some people you can't recognise.

You cannot touch them.

_They are the shades, they are not real._

You start to lose yourself between the silver staircases, the magnificent buildings, the streets of cloud, silver and light.

Werewindle is warm.

_The Pattern is nearby. _**You have to decide**.

There is a voice in your mind – it's unfamiliar, strange – alien, yet something that's in your blood.

**Walk it, or walk away**.

There is a loud grunt, and Luke appears before you, barely standing straight, his clothes burnt and his side a bloody mess. He collapses on the ground, before sparing a glance at your direction. Torn between the want to rush towards him or hide, you settle for a middle ground – you step toward the side of the ghostly street and start creeping towards him.

Then – there is a swirl in the night and there is Voldemort standing with all his chilling appearance, as if he owns the place. How?

_Is he related? No – impossible._

The sword urges to be drawn.

_He stole your blood. He stole our blood. You must make him pay._

You dart from the cover and cast the disarming charm. It doesn't work.

Voldemort responds with the killing curse. It also fails.

You draw the Werewindle out, its razor sharp edge glittering in the moonlight. You take a step towards the Dark Lord, who is still staring at the end of the wand, slightly surprised. Then, he takes out a trump, but you can't let him get away – somehow, magic doesn't work here, and you are the one with the sword.

Another step and you swing the blade in a short arc, aiming to sever his arm, but Voldemort twists to a side, your blade cutting the trump in two.

"Potter," he hisses, "don't think that you can defeat me with such muggle means."

You ignore him and bring the sword back down at him. He raises his hand and a silver snake darts at your face from his sleeve.

"_**Die...**_" you barely manage to stop yourself mid swing, and recoil back – had you allowed your strike to continue and didn't react – you would probably lack an eye now.

There is loud hissing, as there appears to be a few more snakes hidden in his robes, each and every one more poisonous than the next.

"_**Kill him.**_" Voldemort commands and the snakes start attacking you.

You try stopping them with Parseltongue, but they don't listen. You resort to simple strikes, and cut them apart, with a surprising ease. Is that it? Voldemort looks too content as you are approaching him again.

There is movement on your left, and you leap back, the silver snake almost biting you in the leg. Didn't you cut it in two before? It hisses obscenities at you, and you decapitate it again.

There is another one of them near your legs. You hack at it, in time to see the silver serpent rising without any markings of the wound. Voldemort starts laughing.

_Give me control. Give me your body, and I'll kill him._

You don't understand, the blade is supposed to be imbued with Pattern – it's mortal for the chaos beasts... But the snakes reform again and again.

_Give me control and it will be._

Why should you?

_Why not? You can trust your grandfather's memory._

Why is this happening? The Werewindle starts pulsing anew, and the snakes recoil, giving you a moment of respite.

_Now, give it to me. It's your only chance. They are learning, it's harder and harder for you to keep them at bay. One of them will get through, then another and what then?_

You spin on the heel, bringing down the sword in the glittering arc, severing two snakes with one swing, but the third one manages to get through. There is a sharp twinge in your right leg, and you barely manage to use the Werewindle to try and cut the serpent off. Its head, however looks just as alive as it was before and even severed from the body is not releasing the bite.

You can almost feel as the venom is spreading in your blood, the throbbing pain and unexpected stiffness following its path.

_Quick, give me control!_

"No!" You scream out loud and break into the run, towards the only chance you think you still have.

Voldemort is following you together with the snakes. Each step is painful and heavy. but you still can't manage to get the snake's head off you leg. The Pattern is nearby.

_You don't need to walk the Pattern – you have the sword. Just give in, and you'll survive. I'll make sure of it._

You are close to the beginning now, and there is but a step before you try...

_You won't make it through. You're too weak. You're poisoned. Why are you so keen on killing yourself?_

You place a foot on the glowing line. Pain shoots up throughout your body. The serpent's head is burning with a blue-white flame and disappears in a puff of smoke. You take the first step, going against the stream of the river. There are blue-white sparks outlining the way.

There is no way back. The whispers of the sword fall silent, but you can feel that it didn't want to be taken into the Pattern. You still did it, against your grandfathers wishes. There is a crackle and your hair is beginning to rise. You push forward.

Sword in burned hand, your right led bleeding, pain echoing everywhere, you make it to the abrupt curve. Ten more paces and a certain resistance arises, as if a black barrier has grown before you. It pushes back, compeletely matching your effort to get through.

The First Veil. You need to get beyond it.

**Harry Potter. The blood of Amber is in your veins, and your life is full of false expectations. When have done something for yourself? Why do you drive yourself so hard? What magic has Brand weaved upon your line?**

Step after step, you push through.

There was a reason of the world you lived in. There was a reason for your existence. It's not a fairy tale, nor a story, its borderline cruelty. Brand never was a loving grandfather. He never wanted to see his daughter, as she was a price to pay. And had she survived, he probably would have come after few hundred years and 'rescued' you all from the Shadow prison and expected to be thanked and honoured.

Your mind is a knot of thoughts, some yours and some alien. It is incredible how much had the sword dug into your mind, how strong had it rooted inside. Yet – you are incompatible, had it been otherwise, you wouldn't be trying to walk the thin warm line. You are too different, as you believe in values your grandfather never even tried to acknowledge.

You are well into the Pattern now and the sparks flash continually about your feet, reaching to the height of your knees. The wound in the leg stings as it's touched by a stray spark, and you are lost in the pain, effort and steps. You don't know which direction you are facing now, it there is Voldemort watching. You don't think about Tir-na Nog'th, don't remember Hogwarts – it's just you pushing forward or dying in the process. There's a pins-and-needle feeling in your cheeks and a coldness on the back of your neck. Your teeth are clenched to prevent them from clattering.

Six more rapid steps, reaching the end of an arc and coming to the begging place of a straight line. You set your foot upon it, and with each step you take another barrier begins to rise against you. It's the Second Veil.

**Why do you feel the connection to the past? Why is your former life important? Why is Voldemort? You can find a new life, a new place, the memories you got from Brand are enough for you to understand the Shadow and its workings. Don't you want a peaceful life?**

You are lying to yourself. You're trying to push Hogwarts away, to concentrate on your progress, to ignore the wounds... But even as you know that the Amber is of Substance, that it's true and real, you can't help but remember your friends. Your godfather. Your school. Your home.

Hogwarts was your home, even when the troll attacked, even as the Basilisk tried to kill you. The Serpent tried to kill you. Why? You don't know, but it's as sure as the Unicorn protecting you in your third year and in Nicolas' Tower. They are trying to play you, and it's time their pawn moved out in the big world? But can you leave the wizarding world behind?

Ten paces, then a swirling filigree of fire confronts you. You essay it, your sweat dropping onto the ground. There are currents of air moving, trying to blast you away from the Pattern. You struggle on, resisting them. You know that to leave the Pattern before you have completed would mean your death. Your blood mixes with the drops of sweat. It's not good to bleed on the Pattern – there is something warning you in the back of the mind, but you know that it's not really the True one.

Three more curves, a straight line and a series of sharp arcs and there is the feeling of something you have seen in the memories that were given to you – the power over Shadows.

Ten more turns leave you dizzy, another short arc, a straight line, and the Final Veil.

It's agony to move. Everything is trying to beat you aside; you almost fall on your knees, but somehow manage to straighten the legs...

**You killed the Serpent of your world. You will do anything in your power to stop the Riddle from reaching the canter of the Pattern. You will no longer succumb to the blade. But will you go back home? Where is your home, where is your family, Harry?**

The world was harsh, cruel. Your home was a small cupboard, a place where you felt safer than anywhere else. Your family – a relatives by blood, but those that only hurt you. Then, Hagrid came and told you of another world. Hogwarts was your new home. Your friends and Sirius – your new family.

It appears that the true world is many times more than that. And your family is larger than you thought. Your Grandfather had many brothers. This family is cruel too. Your grandfather tried to... How is he better than Vernon? What makes Amber better?

You now have power over shadow. You could find anything, have everything, rest, learn, teach, play... You could find a world where you could get to know Cedric. You could find the world where you would watch James Potter cursing the hell out of Snape. You could find dozens of Hermiones and Rons, Ginnies and Nevilles, Lunas and Chos... You could even try and find Lily, but she would be but a shadow of your true mother.

What would be the point? Your home is still at Hogwarts, your Heart is still with your family. The one, that loves you as much as you love them. The one, that trusts you as much as you trust them.

And you would return home.

The air was both boiling and cold, the white-blue sparks reached as high as your eyes, you could barely see anything, much less the Pattern itself.

Then, a short arc, ending in blackness.

One, two. . . . And to take the last step is like trying to push through a concrete wall.

You manage it.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

Your legs don't hold and you fall onto your knees, in the middle of the Pattern. Shaking, you are gasping for breath. The blood is almost boiling in your veins – the poison of the snake is being expelled the most painful way possible. Your hand is still hurting from the fire whip, and your legs can barely hold even without the bites.

The sword is cold alike the trumps. The memory of your grandfather has shifted and changed. Can you say that the memory is dying?

_I could have given you the same control, yet you chose to become a tool for the Pattern. We could..._

Your mind is suddenly clearer than before.

Your forehead feels warm – there are a few drops of warm dark blood pouring out of your scar.

**Your mind is your own now.**

Your mind is yours.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

You stand slowly, painfully, helping yourself with the blade. It belongs to you. The Pattern in the blade is glowing, and has shifted slightly. You look around to see Voldemort standing before the start of the Pattern, his snakes circling him, his eyes onto you.

**You must stop him.**

He has killed your family – you can't let him roam shadow. But will the blood he has stolen from you be enough for him?

**You must stop him.**

You could ask the Pattern to bring you anywhere. To bring you back at Hogwarts.

**I will. But first – you must stop him.**

You take a step and suddenly you are before the Dark Lord, Werewindle almost singing in your hand.

As one of the snakes jumps forward, you jab at it with your blade. Werewindle carries a piece of the Pattern with it, and that piece is deadly for everything of chaos. The snake falls down erupting with blue flames.

You finish the others with a few swings, but Voldemort isn't standing still, either – he has been through so many enhancing rituals, through so much, that even without his magic, without his snakes...

His punch lands on your stomach and his other hand grips your burn marks. You scream out of pain and drop the sword. Your legs are barely holding, and your lungs are desperately trying to catch breath.

"You made me resort to Muggle combat." He hisses, kicking you in the ribs. Three times. "I hate everything Muggle."

He kicks the sword away. Werewindle clatters against the silvery ground. You have no strength left in you.

Hissing laughter fills the area.

"You are nothing, Potter, nothing. Yet, you shouldn't die before you watch me ascend into the godhood. I will attain the true immortality and the power over innumerable worlds."

He kicks you again for good measure.

"Nicolas is a good liar and a perfect teacher. You have destroyed the means he tried to give me for my resurrection not once, but twice. You have killed the echo of the Serpent."

This time the heavy boot, from some scaly hide, lands into your face. "The Serpent that was there since the deal with Brand. The Serpent that taught me of true world, it has taught me of the true immortality." His next kick makes you whimper.

"You see, there is a secret the Serpent has thought me – I'll walk the atrocity made with his eye, and the rituals I have done... There will be no petty distractions for my magic. I will kill you like a wizard. And I will be the greatest one there ever was. Forever. Yet, you should be happy, Potter. I won't return to the wizarding world you hold dear – your friends are safe. Do you like this last gift I give you? Do you understand the mercy Lord Voldemort is showing you?"

You cough up some blood; it splatters on the hem of his cloak.

"And just maybe, I will return, immortal and eternal, and show them what powers there are in the world."

He turns around and strolls towards the beginning of the Pattern.

You reach out and grab his leg. You held your grip as strong as you can and even manage to trip him. Sadly, he rises again, free of your touch and stomps onto your offending hand. There is a crack and a scream. The scream is yours – he has broken the bones in your right palm.

"Petty distractions, Potter. Pathetic. Were you trying to use your mother's curse against me? Who do you hold me as – I am Lord Voldemort, and I have beaten any curses of hers. Do you remember how I killed her? I hope you do."

You glance upwards and notice the clouds gathering slowly. The moon. You smile even in pain.

"You will die today, Tom." You call him by his given name, hoping that it would annoy him more. Surprisingly, it works, as his eyes are boiling blood red. "You will die like one of the muggles you despise so much, Tom. **_You will die today_.**"

There is so much pain everywhere. He's kicking you and you are rolling on the ground, covered in blood and bruises. After a few minutes or hours of torture, he finally stops.

"You know, I'll keep you alive, Potter. I will make a statue out of you, one that could see and feel. And I will kill anyone you might have held dear, anyone you ever smiled at. And you will watch."

He kicks you in the face for the thousandth time and you even black out. It's probably just a second or two you are missing, but as you open your eyes again, he's stepping onto the line.

You start crawling towards the sword. It takes you quite some time, but you manage it. Werewindle heats you up, soothing the pain somewhat. Still, standing is probably above your current state. Voldemort is halfway through.

The clouds are almost covering the moon, completely. You laugh, loudly, and proud with the time you have won. Voldemort hears you, surprisingly and tracing your gazes notices that everything is more and more translucent by the second. He tries to rush, but there is no rushing once on the Pattern.

Still, he is getting closer and closer to the end, and you are suddenly afraid that it won't work. Gathering the remaining strength you prepare to hurl the sword at him, as the last resort, but he's too far, you won't probably manage it.

Then, the moon hides behind a cloud.

Tir-na Nog'th flickers and disappears completely.

You start falling.

Voldemort starts screaming out of rage – has had but the last Veil left to cross. Then, the rage shifts into surprise and pain as he too starts falling. It is deadly to leave the Pattern while trying to walk it. There is a smell of the burning flesh everywhere and the Dark Lord starts clawing at his face.

But he doesn't die.

You shift slightly – so that you are nearer and nearer.

And he still isn't dead.

You have almost no strength at all, but the Dark Lord recovers.

He soars in the air, swooping at you like an angry hawk. There is a tingle of magic in his movements, yet it's obvious he is still in excruciating pain.

Finally he slams into you and starts tearing at your clothes. You try to swing at him mid-air, but with your left hand it comes of weak and doesn't even scratch him. You don't understand what is happening but try to struggle. It's hard to do so, when your whole body screams with pain.

He finally founds what he was looking for and tears out one of your three cards out. You cannot let him use it. Werewindle gives you the last drop of strength and you somehow manage to twist the blade and pierce Voldemort in his stomach.

This time, the blade is yours and your enemy has a drop of chaos in his veins.

He has no chances.

There is a hiss in the air, and you can almost see the invisible binding strings snapping as the Dark lord gives his last breath.

Still holding onto the blade or, more exactly, – onto the remains of Dark Lord, you manage to reach the trump he just got out.

The ground is near.

Which one is it?

Nicolas – Bleys.

A few meters above the ground you manage to establish contact.

"Harry?"

You don't really remember if you hit the ground or if that was Bleys dragging you towards him.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

"Harry." The voice is pleasant, calm. "Wake up."

"Headmaster?" You finally match the voice with your memories.

"You're safe. I'm sorry to say that we didn't recover your wand, though. You probably lost it along the ride"

You open your eyes, and notice the concerned face of the headmaster. "Where am I?"

"Hogwarts."

You look around to see the usual sight of the hospital wing.

"I'm sorry to disturb your rest, but I have to know, what happened to Voldemort?"

You try to sit up.

"Potter! You are to rest," the voice of Madam Pomfrey reaches you.

"I feel fine."

"The injuries were excessive."

"And they are healed now," you argue.

"Please, Harry." Albus motions for Pomfrey to leave it be. "Voldemort."

"He's dead."

"What happened to your scar? Could you tell anything else?"

You touch your forehead, and find a very faint trail under your fingers. "It's healing."

"Where have you been all this year?"

"A year? It was but a day." It doesn't look like the Headmaster is kidding. "What of my friends? Are they alright? Please tell me they are alright? How is Sirius?"

Albus smiles brightly, his eyes twinkling. "They were quite distressed with your absence, but everyone is fine."

You let out a sigh of relief.

"Harry – I'm sorry to hold you from your friends, but this is important – when Voldemort died, did he turn into a shade?"

"No."

Albus eyes twinkle. "And would I be wrong to say that he died at your hand? And you used the powers of Merlin? The powers he was unaware of?"

"I stabbed him with my grandfathers sword. Does that count?" There is a slightest trace of irony in your voice. "Why is it important?"

"The prophesy has been fulfilled." Headmaster smiles. "The one we defended that day at the ministry."

You shrug. "I have never asked what it was. Is it important?"

"Not anymore, not anymore..." He smiles warmly at you. "Now, I believe, your friends would like to see you."

A smile finds your face, but as he gets up, you notice that one of his hands is black and wrinkled. "Headmaster?"

He turns to you, eyes twinkling and examines his own hand as if seeing it for the first time. "It's a story for another time. Its from the year you were absent - Nicolas has been most helpful both with my search and the stopping of the curse. But as I said, you don't need to trouble yourself; there will be time for the tale."

Then the door opens and a handful of Hogwarts students enter - your slightly older friends.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

"...how did it end with Luke?" Ginny smiles at you.

You curse silently and start digging your pockets for the card. There is no mark of it ever being here. "Bleys."

"Harry?" Hermione sounds concerned. "Do you feel alright?"

"Where is the sword?"

There is a horrified expression shared by all of them. Hermione gasps. "It's dangerous..."

You smile. "It's not dangerous anymore, don't worry. Did Nicolas take it? He brought me here, right?"

"Flamel and Dumbledore both were at Hogwarts when you appeared."

"Where is Nicolas? He left, right?" You start to connect the dots as they nod. "He probably took everything with him."

You stand up, and prepare to go seek the headmaster, but then hesitate for a second, stuck with an idea. You dart into the mediwitch's office. "Madam Pomfrey?"

She raises her head questioningly and starts drawing her wand. "Is there something wrong? Maybe the broken ribs healed wrongly?"

"Do you remember our second year? Do you keep a reserve of Mandrake Draught?"

She motions towards the wall, where a line of potions is standing, and gestures at two small grey liquid vials. "What do you need it for?"

"I might know someone who is transfigured into stone."

"Potter?" her stern voice follows you as you grab the vial and dart through the door, almost throwing Hermione and Ron down on the ground.

"Harry? Where we you going?" Both Ron and Hermione decide to tag along.

"To the Headmaster."

"What do you need the Draught for?" Hermione asks. "Don't you think you took a bit too much?"

"What? Why? I figured a vial is a dose for one person."

She laughs, barely catching her breath – you haven't slowed down much. "It's just a few drops sprayed anywhere. I have read everything about it after the second year..."

You run the rest of the distance in silence.

The gargoyle parts after Hermione tells it the password. It's some kind of sweet, but your mind isn't focused on that.

"Headmaster," you shout as soon as you enter, "do you know how to reach Nicolas?"

His eyes narrow. "Why?"

"He stole the trumps and the sword."

"Harry, your obsession with the sword is dangerous. We both decided to destroy the dangerous object – Nicolas will take care of that."

"He won't destroy it. I need to find him and stop him."

"Stop Nicolas?" Headmasters question is echoed by Hermione.

"Sir," you try again, "I know that the sword was dangerous to me before. Now, it's harmless. I'm not asking for it to keep it, I just need to undo the trap my grandfather placed on this world. Nicolas knows about it and is smart enough to figure it out after Voldemort got out."

"Harry, Nicolas is my friend, has been most of my life, I don't think that he has any intentions to harm you or anyone else. But what trap are you speaking about?"

"This," you motion around you, your voice slightly shaking, "this world was both a safe house and a trap my grandfather built. This is the place where he was carrying the negotiations with chaos, here, here he was the one that weaved a number of shadows together – it's a complicated concept I still don't understand, but it all makes sense – the time differences, the time turners, everything."

Albus looks thoughtful. "Who told you that?"

"My grandfather. He left... I mean, the Pattern holds memories of those, who manage to walk it. He weaved a part of Pattern into his sword, incidentally – the part holding a part of his memories. Still, had I taken the sword after walking the Pattern, I wouldn't even have noticed that something resides inside. He almost took over me through my blood, but I have walked the Pattern and in the process – cleaned both the sword and my mind. Some knowledge remained. I know how to release the bindings. And I know that Bleys might make a mistake and collapse everything when he leaves. You would all crease to exist..."

Headmaster stands from his chair and places his hands on the table. "Alas, I cannot help much..."The expression of his face changes to the one in pain. "I assume, that the vial of your blood that he took is important as well?"

"He needs blood of Brand's line to be able to do anything at this place. My blood. Voldemort got out because he had since the rebirth ritual in the fourth year. The one Bleys helped him create."

Albus lets out a few painful gasps. "I'm sorry, Harry, I have failed you yet again..."

"You didn't, you didn't know..." Your voice is heavy, "or... Headmaster, please tell me what do you know about my scar? Did you know that it was a part of the Dark Lord? I managed to get a peak at his memories as it was destroyed."

Ron gasps.

"Harry... I... didn't, but I... expected it a possibility." Headmaster looks extremely weak and is barely managing the words. "I feared... that at worst it might lead you... to your death..."

"Why didn't you tell..." Your anger washes away as the Headmaster staggers again – this time your worry beats the slight anger, and you jump towards the headmaster, catching him from the fall. "What is happening to you? Sir? Do we need to get Pomfrey?"

He manages an old man's smile and a usual twinkle of his eyes. "Poppy... won't... help... me... In my youth... I... Flamel... had me promise... an Unbreakable Vow... to never... attack him... or aid those that... against him... It... price... for an apprenticeship..." He looks at the side, eyes finding Fawkes. "Fawkes... agrees... to bring you to him..." Albus reaches out and pushes his wand in your hands. "Take it... I give... as a gift..."

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore closes his eyes and stills. There are tears on your cheeks. Anger, regret and pain. You feel the wand with your fingers, and it lets out a single spark, as if promising revenge for its former master. Given as a gift and not forcibly taken.

You get up slowly and step towards the case holding the Sword of Gryffindor. Hermione is sobbing uncontrollably and Ron is stunned into silence. There is some defensive magic at place, but you push at it with the Pattern and it dissolves before you. Clasping the handle of the sword, you turn to Fawkes, before Ron and Hermione recover. "I'm ready."

You vanish with a flash of flames.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

You are brought back to the Nicolas' Tower. In fact, it was built by Brand, on his first few visits. It's supposedly a smaller copy of the Keep of the Four Worlds, but you don't have enough of his memories to compare. Instead of the raw power source in it depths – there is a way to Tir-na Nog'th, and the moon here always shines upon the fountain as it appears – a beautiful mix of trumps and local magic.

This is also a place holding the key outside. Bleys needs the sword and blood to open it, but he doesn't know how to do it without destroying this Shadow.

And you have no chances facing him in combat.

Luckily Fawkes brings you near the statue. Merlin.

A few drops of the Draught, and you start waiting.

The tower is slightly shaking. It's starting. That's not the only way to leave – he could have just killed anyone with a trace of Brand's blood. Had you not returned, after a few Amber years the Shadow would have collapsed by itself. Did Bleys have a hand in Voldemort choosing to attack your family? Dumbledore believed that it was because of the prophesy, but Bleys might have figured out who was there to sustain the stability of the shadow. Lily. You.

Brand held the shadow stable for many years, jumping in and out via trumps, but when he got tired of it all... He figured a daughter could do it better. Time works interesting here – while someone of Brand's blood is there, it's considerably slower and even stable... Sometimes, when no one of the blood is in the Shadow when you arrive, you could even end up before you left. The whole mess hurts your head – still, it's probably the only world where things such as time turners exist and work. Opening the way outside will make sure they won't.

Time. You don't have much left. It's regretful that having a time turner wouldn't help – the collapse is going to start too soon for it to work properly.

Merlin opens his eyes almost collapsing on the ground. "What?"

"Bleys got you." You smile at his stunned expression. "I need to stop him. I need your help."

"Who are you?"

"Harry. We don't have much time... how do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

You conjure a goblet and fill it with water. It's slightly easier than usually, but that's probably the Pattern helping along the local magic. Or the memories of Bleys. Or Tom.

He drinks it without much suspicion. The tower shakes again.

"Do you have any tricks with you?" You ask him. "I don't think we could take Bleys head on."

He laughs. "Give me a few minutes to hang a spell or two and we'll see."

"Don't you need a wand?"

"I'm Merlin."

There is a strange circling of energies, and something reaches out from him, and then with a silent pop, there is a sword and a small wand in his hands. You gape at him.

"And, Logrus still works locally."

You nod, not fully understanding – you have many memories, but there's still not much order in your mind.

"You are Lily's boy, right?"

"How...?"

"You look like your father. And you have Brand's eyes. We once we had a row about you - it was the day Bleys petrified me. It was sneaky, but nothing less to expect from an uncle. So, why do you want to stop him? I figure he didn't kill you after all?"

The tower shakes again.

"Look, Bleys is trying to collapse the shadow. Help me stop him, and I'll open it to be reachable."

"Will that hurt us?"

"Bleys way might," you lie. "I don't fully know. It might even kill both you and him. I should survive."

"Alright, let's go talk with my uncle."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

There is a huge hall, with the sword protruding from the floor, wind is blowing everywhere, the tower is shaking heavily.

You enter from one side, and Merlin from the other – he disillusioned both of you beforehand.

Bleys is in the middle of some complicated magics.

You are the first one to reach him, and as Merlin asked you to – you are the first one to attack. You send a stunning spell, and move to the side as soon as it leaves your wand.

The red beam washes over him, scattering to small lights. Bleys turns around and looks at the direction the spell came from.

"Harry Potter?"

You send a severing curse. Bleys swats it away with his hand, the rings glittering with power on his fingers.

"Harry, I mean you no harm." Before you manage to snap another one, he gives another wave and dispels the disillusionment. "I'm just tired of this place and want to leave."

"So why don't you? I could show you the way out."

"I have already found the way out."

"It will collapse everything, destroying everyone."

"They are of no consequence. The only ones that I'm slightly reluctant to destroy are you and Merle."

"Did you kill my mother?" Your voice has metal undertones.

"I'm certain it was a certain Dark Lord, and not me." The tower shakes. "I have never touched a hair on her head."

"But you told him to go there."

"You tell me that as if I could order him around."

"But you could, and you did. He was your experiment of chaos powers and promises. You were trying to make a deal with the Serpent."

"Well, Grindelwald failed, so I had to try something new. Still, it's only as a way to get out of here. Harry, you cannot hold it against me for wanting to escape this place?"

"Why did you have to kill my mother?"

"Honestly? I thought that her death would simply end this prison. I was saddened to hear that her demise was in vain. And I didn't even try to kill you."

"When Voldemort was but a shade, you said him that you were trying to reach me, but the sacrificial magic and the curse were in the way. You said that you tried to make my relatives kill me, supporting their hatred with your spells. Why didn't you go yourself and simply ended me, while I was in school?" Anger is boiling inside of you. "If you killed my mother, why didn't you kill me yourself, you had your chances..."

"You know how did I end up here? I was trying to learn Brand's secrets. He brought many of them into his grave. I didn't want to kill you personally – I'm against killing my kin... too many legacies die with them. And the one who kills them usually gets to bear the brunt of the curse..."

The tower stops shaking.

"That was smart, Harry." He smiles at you with a huge smile. "Apparently you are not alone. A good move, to take the sword, but I'll just resume after I deal with your annoying interferance."

"I didn't just take the sword," says Merlin, dropping his illusion.

There is a gust of wind and some kind of greenish light that slams into Bleys from his side. He is blasted across the room and slams into the wall.

There is laughter as Bleys rises up again. "Pathetic, Merle, pathetic."

They both start exchanging spells – there are beasts of fire, elements of water, the rumbling stones and swirling winds. You manage to send a spell or two at Bleys, but he parries everything with his empty hand.

There is a crackle of lightning that makes your hair stand up, and finally it falls silent. Bleys is still laughing. "You know that your magic is weaker here, and this palace's one is a joke against the defences Pattern can offer. Still, there is a quicker way to finish this. Without any rituals, I'll simply kill the shadow's anchor." Bleys turns at you, and waves his hand towards you. "Die.** Avada Kedavra**." The green beam is too fast for you to dodge and it catches you in the chest. The only thing you manage is bringing the Pattern forward in your mind.

You scream as the light engulfs you, but after a few painful seconds it just washes away like a failed curse cast by a first year. Your wand drops on the ground, but you manage to stand and take the Sword of Gryffindor into your right hand.

"I see... You have walked the Pattern, then." He blocks another display of colourful magic from Merlin. "It's saddening to see your efforts fail this much."

Merlin smiles. "Don't think there's only magic I have at my disposal." He raises Werewindle up. "It's a brother to Greyswandir, and I do know how to use it."

"As far as I remember, you are worse than your father with the blade, and I think he doesn't match up with me."

"I have had some training at the Courts, before walking into Brand's trap." Merlin sends another lightning at Bleys. "I still think that your rings count as cheating."

"Why do you even help the whelp? We could kill him and walk away."

"You did want to leave me petrified in the collapsing shadow. And made deals with the Serpent behind my back. I might have taken some offence. And I think that trapping me here was your idea in the first place. Who is your friend in the courts? Did Dara want to make me take a vacation?"

Bleys doesn't answer.

Merlin takes as few steps forward. "Harry, don't hesitate to join." His first strike is in a wide arc, bringing the sword down on Bleys' neck, but instead of connecting, there is a clatter of metal, as a sword appears in Bleys grip out of nowhere.

You rush forward, striking from his behind with the Sword of Gryffindor, but the strike is blocked. You exchange a few blows, and then Bleys takes out a dagger, and hurls it at you. Somehow you manage to jump to the side at the last second and it only scratches your side.

After a few more erratic minutes, where you are trying to parry and evade a flurry of blows, you can't help but be pushed back. There are cuts on your hands and face, and a nasty wound in your left shoulder, but you are still standing. Merlin actually looks worse than you – apparently his muscles are still sore from the whole petrifaction problem. And Bleys is with but one scratch on his left hand – a lucky blow by Merlin. None of the spells Merlin threw at him appear to have done any damage at all.

After a few more steps back you come to a staircase and Merlin, after a rather vicious strike towards Bleys' face that makes your opponent jump back, starts dragging you up the stairs. "We need to retreat – he has no means to finish the ritual now."

You nod and follow. Occasionally there is a strike to parry or an opportunity to strike, but you both are steadily concentrating on making progress up the stairs. Once you reach the top, Merlin throws the door shut into Bleys' face and locks it with an unfamiliar spell.

"I guess we have two minutes," he says gasping for breath, "maybe one."

You look around for anything useful in the room.

"Is there a way to leave without using this Tower?"

You shake your head. "Unless you can teach me to draw trumps."

"But... trumps don't work here. And I can only paint the locations in this Shadow. Or those that live here. And for some reason – Luke. He never answers the call, though."

"Luke?" You perk up. "Do you have his trump? Bleys stole the one I had..."

There is something pounding at the door. Merlin casts another spell, erecting a stone barrier in place of the cracking door. "Maybe, I drew three or four of them. Why?"

"His trumps work for me."

He starts digging his pockets furiously – "Here."

It looks crumpled, and only sketched, but it feels cold to touch. It's going to work.

"Harry, please hurry."

You try to reach out and after a few moments manage the contact.

As soon as it is initiated, Luke jumps forward and grabs your hand, jumping into the room.

Merlin groans. "Great."

"Merle?"

"Luke, you are a fool and you will die a painful death."

"Is that a proper way to talk to the king?"

"My crown is bigger than yours. Shut up and listen."

You are gaping at their antics.

"We needed you to bring us out of here, and what did you do?"

"What's the hurry?" Luke smiles and looks around to notice the crumpling block of stone.

"Bleys." You tell him at the same time as Merlin.

"Alright. But I want the fathers sword, since now I have to help you," he looks at the sword in Merlin's hand.

"You know, you should really try finding it by yourself next time." Merlin tosses it and unsheathes the one at his side – the one conjured before. "You can't expect me to bring it to you all the time."

Bleys finally enters the room, anger evident on his face.

"Hello, uncle." Luke smiles at him. "You know, I never thanked you for betraying and imprisoning my father."

Bleys spits on the ground before him. "And I never got a chance to hit you for Caine."

"I didn't know you were close." Luke grins. "And I don't think Random would mind me killing you – it will be in defence and you could even say that I'm not pursuing my vendetta."

"And he originally went here to make a deal with a Serpent to start a war, again." Merlin winks at Luke. "A very similar way like your father did."

"Shut up."

The three of you rush Bleys. He is really good with the blade – before, you understand with dread, he was playing with both of you. Now, as there are three blades against him, he still holds his ground. He stabs you in the side, but has to draw the blade back quickly to parry the strike from Luke and then shifts his weight to let Merlin's strike soar above him.

You try to take a stab towards him, and your eyes widen as the Sword of Gryffindor pierces his side. At the same time he grabs Merlin's hand and parries a hit from Luke, you realize that he just chose to be hurt by the least dangerous one.

Bleys riposte bites deep into Luke's arm, his grip is still restricting Merlin's movement, and the twist of his body and a low kick you weren't expecting sends you tumbling down the stairs. The Sword of Gryffindor tears out with a silent gasp from Bleys and you are still holding onto it, but after a roll on the stairs, you drop it and manage to escape with but a scratch on your hand from the blade.

It burns.

It burns? Why? It reminds of the venom of the Basilisk...

The Serpent. A touch of Chaos is still in the blade.

The drop of knowledge stolen from Tom whispers – it's goblin steel, it absorbs anything. A twisted mirror image of the Werewindle. A Shadow becoming Substance from the death of the Serpent's image.

Bleys staggers up the stairs, releasing Merlin and disengaging from Luke, and grabs his side with his free hand. Luke smiles seeing hope and feints a strike from the left side, but Bleys still manages to parry and return the favour. Luke counter-riposte finally lands, and draws another drop of blood – Bleys couldn't evade so he purposefully let his left hand get in the way.

You rise slowly, glancing around for the Gryffindor's sword. Only Dumbledore's wand lies there, calling for you. Warm blood is pouring out of your wounds. You stagger a step as Bleys intercepts a strike of Merlin's and pushes him into Luke.

You reach out for the wand and raise it in your hand.

Struck by a sudden inspiration, you remember Sirius, and shout, loudly "**Expecto Patronum**!"

The Unicorn jumps from your wand and charges towards Bleys, head lowered, horn ready for a strike. Bleys tries to swat it away with the rings, with his injured left hand – the Unicorn pierces whatever defence there was in place and stabs deep into the wound.

Then it jumps back, gives you a short stare and fades away.

"Do it again!" Luke's voice reaches you through the Bleys' scream of anger. "Again!"

**"Expecto Patronum**!" There is nothing, only a wisp of white smoke. "I don't think the Unicorn can interfere anymore!" you shout loudly, "**Expelliarmus**!"

Bleys still manages to slightly move his heavily injured limb to counter, but the spell goes through – there are no more protections for him. He still negates it effect with Pattern, but that costs him a second of concentration, and in turn, lets Merlin land a spell that throws him into the wall.

You start climbing back up launching an array of stunners and cutting spells.

Bleys eyes showing panic, he starts running down the stairs, dodging the spells, and charging towards you. A moment before he reaches you, though, he is hit by another spell of Merlin and his robes burst into flames. Pure fear in his eyes, he rolls on the ground, past you and extinguishes himself with a burst of raw Pattern magic.

"**Accio** Gryffindor's Sword," you call the blade to your hand.

Luke is on Bleys tail, and you both try to cut him at the same time. Parrying your strike and doing a backwards cross he manages to avoid both strikes. With a strange hiss that you, for some reason, only vaguely recognise, he wandlessly conjures two green snakes. One of them manages to bite into Luke and you cut down the other.

Then, he lands a successful cut on Luke's chest - it cuts harsh and deep. Merlin casts another spell, but the colourful ray misses Bleys entirely – everyone can barely stand. Luke falls down on the floor, bleeding heavily. Bleys waivers but holds himself steady.

You try one last time, with an **Expelliarmus**. Surprisingly, the spell lands, but there is a sting of pain, and you drop the wand from the pierced arm. Bleys falls down at the same time, your spell flinging him over.

Merlin is nearby, but his finishing strike misses, as Bleys somehow manages to evade it again. A dagger flashes in his hand, and after a second it digs into Merlin's leg.

You try to swing the Gryffindor's Sword at him, but your arm is too weak, and he caches the blade with his bare hand and tears it out of your hands – still it cuts into his palm, probably stinging him with the Serpents poison again.

Then, Bleys stands up and looks at you and Merlin, eyes shining with murder. The Gryffindor's blade is now in his hand, he raises it for a strike that you know you won't be able to dodge.

With a loud jolt, a bloody sword tip emerges from Bleys chest. Werewindle - Luke has just slammed into him, running him through with your grandfather's blade.

Bleys staggers for a second, and drops the Gryffindor's blade on the ground. His eyes roll up, he mutters something inaudible and falls face down on the ground, breathing his last breath before even reaching it.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

"Do you really want to open it?" Luke is helping Merlin stand straight, and you are holding yourself up only by leaning against a wall. And that's after dozens of healing spells. "You could live here until you have a child, and then, you could leave and return as you see fit."

"I don't want to be like Brand was to my mother..."

"And it would clear up the mess with timelines," Merlin says in a weak voice, "I spend a few hundred years here and I still don't understand how this Shadow's time works."

"I think Brand understood," you whisper. "He was slightly mad, maybe that's how..."

"Well, let's open it then." Luke smiles. "And after that, you could go with me and visit Kashfa. It's a beautiful place."

"Or Amber." Merlin grins. "Or the Courts – I still sort of owe you for the statue. At first there will be a mess, as I have been missing for some time, but I'll bring it to order..."

"I think I'll stay with my friends."

They both smile at you, understanding. Luke is the one to say what's on their minds – "It's not like you have to hurry to leave. You still have a lot of time ahead of you."

Merlin touches your shoulder, making you wince in pain. "Harry, you are young and untainted, remember that friends die, whereas you will live forever – you can't tie yourself too strongly."

You shake your head. "That means I have to spend as much time with them as possible."

"It is your choice."

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

"Harry?" Your friends rush to your aid as soon as you arrive, tired and tattered. "We thought you were gone."

You will remember them forever.

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

THE END

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

"...you are telling me, that now _Ginny_ is older than I am?"

ס₪₪₪§|(ΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ)|§₪₪₪ס

* * *

><p>There were a few quotes regarding walking the Pattern, taken from Zelazny's Nine Princes In Amber.<p>

* * *

><p>It's a finished enterprise, but I might edit it somewhat in the coming days.<p>

Maybe I'll post an epilogue some other time, or something. Maybe.

Merry Christmas.

If you enjoyed this - take a look at **Feathers, Fangs and Flames**, it's the work I'm diverting most of my attention to.

Revised the chapter somewhat, no major changes, though. Maybe I'll write something for this timeline after I finish the **SitC**.


End file.
